Page 19 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
The question is friendly, with no trace of the sneering tone I'd expected. None of these guys seems bothered by my very obvious gayness. It's... unexpected.
"Special certification required," I deadpan. "Three semesters of Advanced Sparkle Application."
They laugh, not at me, but with me, and something tight in my chest loosens slightly.
"Did you seriously volunteer at a hospital all summer?" Tyler asks, steering the conversation away from my costume and back to what we had been awkwardly chatting about. I appreciate the gesture, even if it isn't necessary.
"Yeah, emergency department at University General," I nod, falling easily into my comfort zone. "Twelve-hour shifts, mostly nights. It was brutal but amazing."
"Maybe he's a sadist?" I hear Zombie Guy, Taj, I think, whisper to Banana Man. "Who volunteers for night shifts?"
"Someone who wants to see real medicine happen," I shoot back. "Daytime is just paperwork and waiting."
"So, is that where you learned all your medical knowledge?" Tyler asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. "The nursing program here?"
"Mostly," I reply, warming to the topic. "Most of the hands-on stuff comes from clinical rotations. Last month, I was working in the ER and saw everything from broken bones to…" I catch myself before diving too deep into medical details that might gross him out. "Well, let's just say college students on weekend nights keep us busy."
Tyler's eyes light up with interest rather than the glazed-over look people usually get when I start talking medicine. "That sounds intense. Better than sitting through engineering lectures all day."
"It has its moments," I admit with a small smile. "Though I bet you don't have to deal with bodily fluids in engineering."
"Only coffee spills during all-nighters," he laughs. "Definitely less dramatic than your world."
"All this medical talk," Kai groans dramatically, "I'm getting flashbacks to Bio 101."
Tyler laughs. "You only took that class to sit near the cheerleaders."
"True," Kai grins, then turns to me. "But seriously, that makeup is professional-level. Drew's girlfriend Emily does theatre arts. She's gonna want your secrets."
The easy way he weaves me into their conversation, noawkwardness, no hesitation, catches me off guard. These frat guys aren't just tolerating me; they're actually trying to include me in their world.
We approach a large house with Greek letters illuminated above the porch: ΔΨΩ. Music pulses from inside, and carved pumpkins line the steps, their flickering candles creating dancing shadows.
Memories from freshman year flood back, the way those other frat guys' friendly demeanours changed once we were inside, the slurs when I looked too long at someone's costume, the drink I'd barely touched before deciding to leave. My steps falter.
Tyler notices immediately. "Everything okay?" he asks quietly, dropping back so the others walk ahead of us.
Maybe I should make an excuse. Say I remembered an early clinical rotation. Claim a headache, anything to avoid repeating past mistakes.
But Tyler's looking at me with genuine concern, and my gut feeling, the same instinct that tells me when a patient crashes before the monitors start screaming, says I can trust him.
"Last time I went to a frat party, it didn't end well," I admit, keeping my voice low.
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "This won't be like that," he says simply.
"You can't promise that."
"Actually, I can." The certainty in his voice makes me look up. "I'm the Vice President. Anyone who makes you uncomfortable answers to me."
The thumping bass from the speakers vibrates through the floorboards as we enter. Halloween decorations hang from every available surface, fake cobwebs strung across doorways, plastic skeletons propped in corners, and theobligatory bowl of suspicious-looking red punch that glows under the black lights.
"Welcome to Halloween at Delta Psi," Tyler says as I take in the room. "The pledges did a decent job with the decorations."
I should probably text Sylas to let him know I'm okay. He's probably freaking out since I haven't responded to any of his messages yet. And I'm at a frat house of all places—he's going to have a complete meltdown.
I pull my phone from my pocket and see the screen lit up with notifications.
Sylas
